


The Fool's Journey

by jesuisordure



Series: Strange Tales of the Seireitei : Tarot Tales [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Allegory, Character Study, Ensemble Cast, Evil Soul Society, Experimental Style, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Meta, Metaphors stretched to breaking point, Playlist, Shunsui is Terribad at Poetry, Symbolism, Tarot, Teen Byakuya, Unohana Kenpachi, Vignette, Zanpakutou, major arcana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisordure/pseuds/jesuisordure
Summary: Exploring Bleach characters (and concepts) as cards from the Major Arcana RWS Tarot deck. Two great obsessions, combined!Characters are canon for the most part, but with a definite l'Eau de Grimdark scenting the air.





	1. I The Magician - Kisuke Urahara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisuke was _always_ going to be the Magician - there's just no other way - and I do love my perverted shopkeeper, even if I was a little harsh on him here. Can't deny he has a very nasty side to him though.

### Key I : The Magician

####  _Well aren't you so slick.  
No, you can't have my number.  
Go play with your wand._

#####  “You have to systematically create confusion, it sets creativity free. Everything that is contradictory creates life.” \- Salvador Dalí

Kisuke Urahara is a dangerous man, and not for any of the - blindingly - obvious reasons you may be thinking of.

Sure, Kisuke will press the button that says “Do Not Press Under Any Circumstances Ever At All (Yes, We Mean You, Urahara)”.  
Oh yeah, for sure, he absolutely derives immense sexual satisfaction from the sound of things going “boom”.  
And you bet he loves the smell of corrosive chemicals in the morning.

But all of that is Kisuke just barely slipping into first gear. 

No, the true danger Kisuke Urahara poses to the world lies in the reality-wrecking ideas he is so very good at coming up with, combined with the genius-level intellect capable of bringing those ideas to terrifying life. The fact that his moral landscape is swampy at best, doesn’t help the situation one single iota.

They say the Devil makes work for idle hands, but what if those idle hands _are_ the Devil’s? 

The most dangerous Urahara is a bored Urahara. That’s when he starts to look at the ideas that have been lingering at the bottom of the pile; the ones he never quite got round to; the ones he wrote off as being a “bad idea” (and if Urahara thinks it’s a bad idea, you can only imagine). That’s how little annoyances like the hogyoku happen, you know.

Perhaps the only thing to be grateful for - very grateful for, indeed - is that Kisuke Urahara takes such delight in good old-fashioned _meddling_ , preferring to flit among many micro-experiments (we call them “people”) with his fingers in multiple pots (i.e. unsuspecting lives), rather than focus all his energy on a single grandiose testament to his ego (not like some people who shall remain nameless ***aizensosuke*** ). For if he ever turned his attention in that direction, he would surely conquer the world ~~and destroy it shortly thereafter~~ \- even if partially by accident.

This is the Magician - a living, breathing, Big Bang just waiting for a sexy singularity to rub up against. An unstoppable force that recognises no immovable objects. A conduit and transformer, taking the raw, formless power of the Universe, shaking it up until it’s all bubbles and seething energy, and unleashing it on the world.

Just to see what happens.

Call him Mercury, messenger of the gods. Call him Prometheus, who stole fire from them and - in giving it to Man - allowed Man to become a god in his own right. Call him Trickster, who revels in mischief; whose lessons are painful. Call him St. Germain, a Mad Man in a lab; call him Chaos. Call him what you will, he remains the embodiment of the Uncertainty Principle, hiding in plain sight, only truly observable if you don’t look at him directly. 

Is it illusion?  
_Isn’t everything?_  
And if everything is illusion, then surely Illusion is Truth?

Oh, he will talk grinning circles around you. Confound and misdirect. Feed you stone soup while he hides behind a fan, somehow persuading you it was your (terrible) idea in the first place. Create something out of nothing - as if by magic - just when it is needed most.

And you’ll even thank him when you lose an eye because he’s just. that. convincing. 

The Magician recognises no authority but his own (he would never get anything done if he listened to other people telling him “NO!” all the time), and his wildcard nature can be… somewhat _trying_ to those who require a little more sanity and stability - and less screaming and singeing - in their vision of the natural order of things. But those people do not stand at the centre of a whirling maelstrom of unbridled potential. Those people will never change the world. 

As Above, So Below.

**My Will Be Done.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Magician can be summed up in one word: _Manifestation_. Particularly, the manifestation of one's own desires. With the way Kisuke was fiddling around behind the scenes from the very beginning, I think he's a pretty good representative of that energy. He's also a shining example of someone who uses their intellect to master the world around them. The Magician is someone blessed/cursed with insatiable curiosity, willing to sacrifice an eyebrow (or a finger) to learn the secrets of the Universe.
> 
> The tools on the table represent the four elements (along with the wand in his hand) - the base elements of creation that the Magician has expertise in - and the table (stable and man-made) is his ability to bring his creations into concrete reality. His arms channel the power of Life with which to infuse these creations, as well as anchoring him between the realms of Spirit and Earth (sound familiar?) and allowing him to be extremely adaptable and flexible.
> 
> Personally, I think that the Magician can also point to someone who is solitary, sometimes to the point of being isolated; a workaholic; a researcher; an artist stuck in their workroom, not sleeping or eating for days on end as they are gripped by the creative process. One is the loneliest number!


	2. II The High Priestess - Ulquiorra Cifer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, Ulqui as the HP was a bit of a surprise; I was sure it was going to be Unohana or... well, anyone but Ulquiorra. But the Muse wants what the Muse wants and here we are, with a surprisingly good fit. Do not question the Muse.

### Key II : The High Priestess

####  _Chick in fancy hat.  
Much cryptic. So mystery.  
Very occult. Wow._

#####  “Why does the feeling of emptiness occupy so much space?” \- James de la Vega

Silence.

Ulquiorra Cifer stands alone, motionless as a pillar of black and white, in the middle of a cold, barren wasteland.

Silence.

Ulquiorra Cifer stands between a permanently starless _nigredo_ sky and permanently dry _albedo_ dunes as wide as the firmament they sit below, a permanently crescent moon the only source of pale, wan, unchanging light.

Silence.

It is so silent, Ulquiorra could hear his heart beating if he hadn’t torn it out long ago. It was too loud.

Silence.

He buried his heart deep in the desert wastes. Ulquiorra Cifer knows the value of silence.

Silence.

Now Ulquiorra Cifer has become Silence. Cold. Still. Insular. ~~Alone.~~

Pure.

Liberated.

Silence.

Passive. Incapable of growth. Stunted as the broken crescent that crowns him.

Silen--

It is his Heart. It beats again. He buries it further away this time, grinding it under his heel. Deeper and deeper still.

_Silence._

Black sky white sand crystal trees no life.

Silence.

Simple to understand.

Silence.

Ulquiorra Cifer quietly sinks as deeply into his noiseless Mind as his muted Heart is buried under silent sands. Deeper and deeper still.

Silen--

His Heart. 

This dry wasteland is more vast than he will ever know - there is no limit to how far he can distance himself from his tell-tale Heart.

Deeper and deeper still.

_SILENCE._

and yet  
the silence  
does not bring  
him  
the comfort he  
thought  
it would  
why  
he does not  
understand  
why

why the Silence

is so LOUD.

Si--

His Heart is gone, and in its place stands a pomegranate tree - bright, colourful, soft, vibrant Life in this dead broken sharp world - and Ulquiorra Cifer tears into his Heart, only to find it filled with hundreds more juicy, shining, vital hearts and it offends him - this brash, garish, display of unapologetic Life is _offensive_ , and confusing, and Ulquiorra Cifer will end the torment of his Heart, once and for all.

And so he eats his Heart his blood red Heart filled with blood red juice fingers digging in blood red dripping down chin blood red and hand and arm staining pure white sand blood red and pure white robes

and it is sweet and tart not bitter perfectly balanced _alive_

and this was a mistake a mistake he can feel it _alive_

retches cuts his belly open blood red _alive_

_The hole is whole ** _alive_**_

__

_**NO!** _

And ----

Ulquiorra Cifer can Hear for the first time. Hear what was missing. Hear... what he was missing.  
And See  
And Feel  
And

It doesn’t hurt -

Not as much as he thought it would.

It feels  
It feels

He doesn’t know yet.

But where his blood red Heart spilt its blood red Life  
Tiny shoots of emerald green topped with blood red unfurling under a slowly waxing moon and four pulsing stars in heavens that heave and shudder  
Above a world no longer dead

Under the watchful eye of a reluctant gardener.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The High Priestess can be summed up in one word: _Intuition_. You know, that thing Ulquiorra fails miserably at. The HP is a call to go spelunking in your Inner Temple (the one in your head), to trust the quiet voice you find there, to trust that the answers you seek are hidden in the shadows of your subconscious and will come bubbling up to the surface if you're patient enough. Through her association with the Moon, she is also connected to the emotions.
> 
> Basically, the High Priestess is the antithesis of everything Ulquiorra is. He is **so** deep in his head that he's lost track of his emotions all together, so he gets to be Persephone, reborn in the Underworld (the pomegranate is both his, and Orihime's heart), and the environment changes to reflect his growth. Pretty sure there'll rain before long, and then a whole field of poppies.
> 
> The black and white uniform colours are the alchemical _nigredo_ /chaos and _albedo_ /stillness or contemplation; columns are reminiscent of Las Noches' structures; Ulqui's helmet looks like half of the HP's crown; there's the crescent moon of Hueco Mundo - also symbolizing the small sliver of emotion Ulquiorra possesses, and how he's pulled it down and tossed it in the dirt. The date palms on the cloth behind the High Priestess are a source of nourishment, but in HM they are made of crystal. The symbols work so well!


	3. III The Empress - Inoue Orihime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the surface, Orihime is a natural fit for The Empress - hell she's even a Virgo, ruled by the planet Venus, which rules The Empress - but it's the stuff below the surface that makes it interesting. Like a robot from outer space, Orihime is more than meets the eye.

### Key III : The Empress

####  _Careful, little boy,  
Do you think I'm your mother?  
I eat my offspring._

#####  “'Mother' is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.” \- The Crow

People have been underestimating Orihime her whole life, labelling what they see, rejecting what they don’t.

Seeing tits instead of strength,  
eccentricity instead of desperation,  
weakness instead of kindness.

Reject. Reject. Reject.

Orihime is so resilient! (She is a victim of child abuse.) Orihime is so good at looking after people! (She’s been her own mother for as long as she can remember.) Orihime is a natural healer! (She had nobody else to heal her.) Orihime is always so cheerful! (She cries behind closed doors.) Orihime should stay behind (she isn’t strong enough).

Reject(ed).

And they are correct. Orihime isn’t strong ---- 

She is _powerful._

Orihime is powerful enough to have split her soul, then split it again into six different souls, and turned a paired symbol of love and loss into a dual-natured weapon so unique, that not even the genius Magician understands it fully. A power that defies the laws of nature, physics, time and death itself. Only a fool wouldn’t recognise that -

Inoue Orihime is a **goddess**.

A goddess who heals friend and foe alike. Reject. Who turns trauma into perseverance. Reject. Who takes all the painful, ugly, broken threads of her life and weaves them into something as tough and durable as it is soft and beautiful.

_Reject._

But the benevolent goddess and devouring mother are two sides of the same coin, and Inoue Orihime is a well that’s as dark as it is deep. Drink, or drown? (Why don’t you lean a little closer…) The Dark Mother does not nurture - she devours. She lays waste to the world, rejecting its cries for succour while the taste of her own salty tears sting her tongue. The Terrible Mother rejects her husband, consumes her young and fills the world with demons. She has no mercy in her. She eats. She consumes. She devours. Tears, cries, weeping, begging ----

_I reject._

Orihime is kind, sweet, perceptive, funny, independent, odd, enthusiastic, joyful, creative -

But she is not a joke.  
She is not a child.  
She is not a naive innocent to be pushed around and dressed up like a doll.

She is a woman who cradles the delicate, sparkly power of Life over Death in her hands.

And if you look at a woman and see nothing but fertile earth to plant your seed in -  
If you look at a woman and see nothing but a receptacle -  
If you look at a woman and see nothing but territory to be claimed and conquered ---

If you look at a woman and see nothing more than a wife, mother, vessel to be owned,  
A creature with no agency, thought, will of her own ---

If you look at a woman and see anything less than a Queen,

Then you deserve everything you get.

**_I reject._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Empress can be summed up in one word: _Creativity_. Orihime is extremely creative, even if the way she expresses it unnerves her friends. Her thoughts are bizarrely random, her food combinations are abominable, and the robot drawing scene is a cinematic masterpiece. She is named very aptly then, as "Inoue" means "well", and she is indeed a very deep well of ideas, kindness, optimism - _life_ (and a womb is very much like a well.)
> 
> A true empress-matriarch-queen is someone who has known sorrow and loss, which is why Orihime begins her journey as a [princess](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanabata) but ends it as a queen - even if the people around her refuse to acknowledge it *side eyes Urahara and T.K. so hard*. It is her experience of the ugliness and brutality of the world that makes her want to bring as much beauty into it as possible, and it is her empathy and deeply perceptive nature that bring this desire to fruition.
> 
> Her power though... her power turns back time. It _uncreates_ , making Orihime a [Dark Goddess](https://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/89983/what-does-galadriel-mean-by-all-shall-love-me-and-despair); a Destroyer, even as she facilitates Life. To quote mothers everywhere - "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out." Whether you are screaming and bloody at the time depends entirely on how far you push her before she breaks.
> 
> They're all just lucky Orihime is a good person.


	4. IV Emperor - A Trifecta of Terrible Father Figures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collective noun: A **disappointment** of dads, viz. Isshin, Urahara and Yamamoto - OR - No wonder everybody in Bleach has Issues™

### Key IV : The Emperor

####  _I hate you, smug jerk.  
Don't dare tell me what to do -  
You're not my real dad!_

#####  “Management is doing things right; leadership is doing the right things.” \- Peter Drucker

Sons, daughters, rebels and delinquents of all ages - welcome to the land of “I Hate You, You’re Not My Real Dad!” 

Now, before we start, I must ask you to save your jeers, insults, and acts of physical violence ‘til the end of the tour. I promise you’ll get plenty of time to release your daddy issues in their full bankai glory, and - unlike **some** people - I actually keep my promises!

So! On with the tour!

To your left, with the stupid grin and a thousand excuses, is Isshin "Like Responsibility Off a Duck’s Back” Kurosaki - an insult to single fathers everywhere! If Masaki hadn’t become Hollow fuel, she’d be rolling in her grave.

Over there in the corner trying to blend into the shadows, winner of “Worst Mentor Of The Century” award and someone who definitely shouldn’t be left alone with children or highly experimental scientific methods - Kisuke “I Know Best” Urahara. At least he has the decency to look contrite (~doesn't mean he won't do it again though!~) 

And here’s our main attraction, a failure in every category, Genryūsai “Genocide You Say?” Yamamoto: manipulative father figure extraordinaire, leadership figure...head, former warlord, and tyrannical despot all rolled into one. He's the total package! What more could a confused, lonely ghost looking for a place to belong, ask for?

Terrible fathers… terrible fathers as far as the eye can see!

Now you might be thinking, “But how will these fine specimens of paternal incompetency let _me_ down?” Never fear! You are in the presence of Masters, my little ones. You are guaranteed a _minimum_ of three heartbreaks, five-to-seven betrayals - of varying degrees of devastation -, a complete shattering of your ability to trust anyone ever again, and a lifetime - yes, a LIFETIME! - of therapy. And if that’s not enough, should you ever choose to have children of some-kind-or-the-other of your own one day, you will inevitably screw it up just as badly - if not worse - **_AND_** \--- _and_ , they will do the same in turn. Parental ineptitude is the gift that keeps on giving for generations to come!

Let’s get to know our candidates for mandatory sterilisation a bit better, shall we?

First up, Isshin Shiba… sorry, was I supposed to keep that a **secret**? Oops. Isshin “Kurosaki”, then. You know what they say - “father knows best”, except when that father is Goat Face (and the fact that his children named him that should tell you a little somethin’ somethin’). The bumbling dad is only funny on TV, and even then it’s a bit played out at this point. In any case, Isshin takes it to NEW XTREEMS!!! including literal physical child abuse in his routine (oh, but don’t worry, it’s For Their Own Good - You’ll See). If you think an elbow to the face is a great way to wake up, then you’re in luck!

And did somebody say “histrionics”? “Clown”? (Nobody likes clowns, Isshin.) “Attention-seeking overgrown child which is really embarrassing and inexcusable behaviour because you’re centuries-old”? Maybe he was absent from How Not To Be A Crushing Disappointment To Your Children class that day - I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time he just pulled a disappearing act. Good thing his 4-year-old daughter learned how to cook, right?

The saddest part about all this is that Isshin is powerful as FUCK. He sacrificed his Shinigami existence to save the life of a woman he barely knew. He’s not… the worst? dad to his daughters. So - and excuse me while I lose my shit here for a moment - why -- **_WHY_** \------ how, in all the 5 Realms, did Isshin “I Used To Be A Captain” Shiba-Kurosaki ever justify sending his **_15-year old son to war??_** Yes, you heard that right: FIFTEEN, people. Just because it looks like a Feudal Japan and quacks like a Feudal Japan, doesn't mean it _is_ a Feudal Japan!

Ok, mild aneurysm over. Moving on to the great and powerful wizard of Karakura Town, Kisuke Urahara. 

Anyone who knows Urahara knows that he shouldn’t be put in a position of authority. You might as well slather someone up in fish guts and pepper spray and shove them into a bear cage. So it’s really not Urahara’s fault _completely_ *blame expertly redirected with a practiced fan flick*. That he killed his student, and turned him into a monster, and sent him merrily off to war without all the background information that would have been really helpful especially the bit about the other mad genius-scientist with a god-complex who was responsible for, well, everything is just… the beginning.

A good rule of thumb is: don’t trust Urahara Kisuke. He’s a trained assassin who served in a corrupt military organisation - and was very good at it -, and is certifiable in more ways than merely genius. Anybody who was a captain of the “Research & Development” department - let alone the person who invented it - is best kept way, way out of arm’s reach. After all, in Urahara’s world, you can’t spell “fun” without “r-e-c-k-l-e-s-s e-n-d-a-n-g-e-r-m-e-n-t” (Consent? I don’t know her.)

Certainly he means well… for himself. And maybe he doesn’t exactly intend for things to be utterly destroyed (trust, lives, systems of government) in his scheming and gambling and insatiable need to be the best and know the most and outdo his rivals at all costs (*GRIN* _he’s_ not picking up the tab). But until Urahara realises that people are more than just tools to carry out his experiments, he will remain “Actual Parental Guidance Advised”.

And so we come to Old Man Yama. Sounds harmless, doesn’t he? Like a wise senpai who will teach you the Ways of Whatever and help you discover your inner strength and defeat the gangsters trying to take over your town. But no. The only thing you’ll learn playing chess with Yamamoto is that he won’t hesitate to sacrifice his knight, and that he, like the king, has a limited range of movement ---- and vision.

There is no talking it out and clearing up misunderstandings (You get a treason! And you get a defection! Executions for everybody!) - there is only “My word is law” or be burnt to cinders so hard you can’t even reincarnate (‘cos I’m going to need your soul later when I go all necromantic on everybody’s ass) - and don’t think that adoptive children who’ve been with him for 2,000-or-so years are exempt. Oh no. How dare they question his divine authority? Into the fire with you!

You know what they say about the emperor’s new clothes. Nothing. They don’t say nothing.

The thing about absolute power is that, not only does it corrupt absolutely, but it taints and stains and infects anything it comes into contact with. It spreads like a disease, like rot; like termites weakening structure and stability, black mold that hides in the walls, silently poisoning all who are around it for too long (and poison, like shit, rolls downhill). Motives become agendas. Guidelines become rules, become laws become red tape ---- become prisons filled with innocent people

I mean, in what universe is anyone who practices _necromancy_ one of the Good Guys? Come on.

Now before you leave - yes, you at the back with the day-glo orange hair, calm down the hating-and-berating is next - take these words of caution - or inspiration - and heed them well:

“The challenge of leadership is to be strong but not rude; be kind, but not weak; be bold, but not a bully; be humble, but not timid; be proud, but not arrogant; have humour, but without folly.” *****

Am I saying Oedipus was right?

No. 

But I **am** saying that he was only _half_ wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** Quote by Jime Rohn
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Emperor can be summed up in one word: _Structure_. And - make no mistake - the main offenders definitely provide structure, it's just... a pillow-fort, a house of mirrors and a prison cell aren't exactly conducive to a child's growth and general well-being, y'know?
> 
> The number 4 implies a square, implies foundation, implies a house, implies a home. Implies Structure. Discipline. Authority. Control. But without Reason. Competence. Wisdom? Structure has no Stability. It only takes the briefest of cursory looks to see that the world is - and always has been - dominated by 2-dimensional emperors without clothes; kingdoms painted on plywood, that would take no more than a stiff breeze to blow over.
> 
> The Emperor represents the ultimate male ego, with our three candidates representing some of the ways this can go horribly, horribly awry - whether through cowardice, self-interest or sheer unyielding shit-headedness (let's not even get started on Aizen and his manipulation and god-complex!) The landscape this Supreme Leader finds himself in is stark and barren; sterile *cough* like his leadership. (Interesting to note that Aries - the selfish child of the zodiac which rules The Emperor - is a FIRE sign. Lookin' at you, Old Man.)
> 
> Any man can be a father/teacher/ruler, but it takes a brave man to be a parent/guide/leader. Many try, few succeed.
> 
> Reading and watching Bleach was an enraging experience, is what I'm saying. 
> 
> (The part of Oedipus that had the right idea was obviously on his mother's side.)


	5. V The Hierophant - Central 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying I have a wee problem with sanctimonious, hypocritical, corrupt, intolerant, moralizing, self-serving systems of authority - I have a HUGE problem with sanctimonious, hypocritical, corrupt, intolerant, moralizing, self-serving systems of authority #FourForYouAizenSōsuke #YouGoAizenSōsuke

### Key V : The Hierophant

####  _You're only a man -  
Poor imitation of God.  
Beware false idols._

#####  “I believe in everything; nothing is sacred.  
I believe in nothing; everything is sacred.”  
\- Tom Robbins, "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues"

Aizen might have been a megalomaniac dickhead with a severe god-complex (and mildly disturbing butterfly fixation), but he had the right idea with the Central 46 massacre. Sure, it was brutal and bloody, but they were all hypnotised so they probably didn’t even realise what was happening.  
Probably.

I mean, that’s what you get for cloistering yourself within the edifices of state, growing more and more out of touch with the world outside your ~~noble~~ bubble. If you’ve ever spoken the words, “The peasants are revolting”, you’d best believe you’re going to learn first hand just how **revolting** they can be. 

Remember: No one is untouchable. The only difference between a noble head and an ignoble one is that the former makes a far more satisfying thud when it hits the basket.

Every so now and then the “House of God” needs a good ol’ shake up to keep things fresh, y’know? A little spring cleaning here, a little redecorating there (I hear the bold drama of arterial spray is very “in” this year). After all, traditions don’t always have the best shelf life, and if there’s one thing that does not do the Soul good, it’s stale _Tradition!_ ™

(Don’t even get me started on what happens when someone gets **DOGMA.** crumbs in there - you won’t even know you’re swallowing them until it’s too late, and that stuff’s like fugu juice. No bueno for your spiritual health. No bueno at all.)

The _status quo_ was never meant to be _status perpetuum_ \- the very Universe balks against that sort of rigid mind-set. Imagine if those unorthodox little fish hadn’t decided to “Never Skip Fin Day EVER” in order to take an extended vacation where the people are (or where they would be in 350 million-ish years)? We’d all still be sucking shark farts and indulging in extremely impersonal mating habits. Down with conformity! Rise up with evolution!

Of course, veering off the beaten-to-death path in order to blaze a brand new understanding for yourself comes with some heavy responsibilities. When you stop following the guidance of others, you have to -- wait for it -- think for yourself! You can see why putting your head down and blindly responding to the voice of (“divine”) authority with unquestioning obedience is so easy. And tempting. But indoctrination is like a parasite - every time you think you’ve rid yourself of the damn thing, it's “Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.” Well, just ignore the tapeworm in your head. Pretend you’re in an Irvine Welsh novel.

How you go about liberating yourself from the yoke of convention is your choice - whether you climb up onto the pedestal to join those who have been set above you (whether by your hand or their own) on an equal footing, or simply knock them down to your level to instill an instant adjustment in perspective. The simplest - but by no means easiest - method is to follow a policy of _ceci n’est pas une picoédestal_ ***** \- no gods, no masters, no columnar rankings. If you’re going to kneel though, do it for the right reasons. Only you know what those are, but “respect” is a good place to start (and respect is _earned_ , muthafucka).

So you’ve smashed the system and rejected enforced community identity like the good little individualist you are, and you’re wondering, “Now what?” Well, the magic hat’s in your court; you hold the keys to your freedom - time to start exercising your right to self-determination. Time to find the Truth (impossible); to find _your_ Truth (much more doable); to find a whole lot more buried and hidden and under-the-rug-swept Untruth. To sort the grains of truth and untruth from each other like some existentialist Cinderella, and to learn from both. 

A hint, you say?

Beware the man who says he speaks for God. Beware the guru trying to sell you a “Retreat” package in Bali. Beware the self-help expert who seems incapable of helping themselves. And if you meet a sacred cow on the road, eat it.

Now, if you’re sick of being told you’re not a real person because you don’t fit into one of two neat little boxes, or if you’re so totally over rich old white men dictating your life, or if you’ve simply grown weary of filling out forms in triplicate and being told to go stand in that line over there, it’s time to jump the barrier, knock over the water cooler and make a clean get away before the cops come. Maybe set a small fire in the parking lot.

Or you could ask yourself, “What Would Aizen Do”?

_On tue un homme, on est un assassin. On tue des millions d'hommes, on est un conquérant. On les tue tous, on est un dieu._ ******

It’s your choice now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** "This is not a pedestal" - a reference to "[Ceci n'est pas une pipe.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Treachery_of_Images)"  
>  ****** "Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god." - Jean Rostand
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Hierophant can be summed up in one word: _Tradition_. Sadly, it often represents stagnation merely masquerading as tradition. It is a snapshot of all the things that used to keep us safe, provide structure in our lives, and give us a sense of belonging - commonality in beliefs, community identity, societal morals and mores, boundaries and guidelines for existing peacefully with our neighbours and (hopefully) working towards common goals.
> 
> But too frequently, when the world advances, the keepers of these structures and traditions dig in and refuse to move with it. Sometimes this is as simple as fear of change; of things they do not understand. More often, it is because it benefits those in control to keep the world functioning as it always has. Ironic that the Hierophant sits between the pillars of Law and Liberty, as these are two of the first things to suffer when the old men - and it is ALWAYS old men - in charge attempt to slam the brakes on the wheels of progress.
> 
> Central 46, in a nutshell.
> 
> But five is the number of Man - 4 limbs and 1 head. It is also the number of Man as God - our "heads" (minds, souls) setting us above the animals - and the Keys to Heaven sit at the Hierophant's feet, unguarded and accessible, for no mere man can bar the gates to individual godhood. And so when those we look to for guidance lead us into darkness instead of illumination, we must remember that we each have it within ourselves to seize the keys and unlock a new paradise.  
> To create god in our own image.


	6. VI The Lovers - Shunsui (& Jūshirō)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank T.K. for making it canon that Shunsui has little command over the written word, for else my inner emotionally overwrought 17-year old would never have been able to commit this crime. [And if you don't think Shunsui is the sappiest sap - even when not deep in his cups - with bookshelves haphazardly crammed full of Harlequin novels and first editions of the Romantic poets - procured for a ludicrous price by Urahara - then I don't know what to tell you.]
> 
> Playlist to accompany this monstrosity: [**K.S. + U.J. 4 eva**](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4SaAoeZZSn2O7BkOgMsoLT) // shunuki

### Key VI : The Lovers

####  _Bless these two dummies  
With their junk out on display.  
Silly naked apes._

#####  “Love is a decision – not an emotion!” \- Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

My only _Kozakana_ ,

I have seen the bottom of one too many sake jugs this night and am quite hopelessly - and happily - drunk. That perfect drunk that wraps around me as softly as the warmth of your arms, though not half as intoxicating. This room is as dark, and tiny, and cramped as my life before we met and, though I would never wish you even the slightest suffering - let alone this ceaseless torment that keeps me from sleep and dreams of you - I nevertheless selfishly hope you feel at least a fraction of the pain I do when we are separated from each other.

As I lay these strokes down on paper, I imagine it is your skin that I mark, so you will forgive me, my _Shiratake_ , if the lines waver under my unsteady grasp, for my hands are trembling with the memory of the first time they brushed liquid silk from warm porcelain (and I am very drunk, I say). In my mind, I can see you stifling your groans behind your sleeve, your eyes glittering with mirth - but I happily place my ego in the elegant steel of your hands without fear of injury, secure in the certainty that you would never use your strength for cruelty. 

So take my heart, dearest Ju-chan, and take my words; and may the rest of me be with you soon.

They say love is a choice,  
but this was never a choice;  
We were as inevitable as another season’s blossoms  
drifting down to join the earth;  
As natural as the Sun disappearing below the horizon  
and the Moon rising to take her place;  
As easy and soft and gentle as spring rain.  
“Love” is not a big enough word to hold this.  
To hold us.  
What shall I call it then?

“Beautiful...”  
\- The word that slipped from my lips in a quiet prayer.  
Your smile  
That dropped me as surely as a fist to the gut,  
my knees hitting the dirt in awe  
And worship

I feared to touch you,  
Lest I stain your lily white bright purity;  
Until you showed me the mud at the bottom of your crystal pool,  
rich and dark,  
And you the lotus - rising like the moon -  
With a stem of coiled steel,  
and a heart of blue lightning flame  
Fierce enough to cleanse even my soiled soul -  
an umbral garden  
Where only flowers of blood will bloom.

And I found quiet in the evergreen shade  
of your bamboo eyes,  
Following the play of light and shadows  
on elegant, flexible lengths,  
Strong enough to break bones,  
Delicate enough to make music.  
You let me deep into your open heart -  
a barrier no evil can breach.

My silver tongue  
Your emerald eyes  
and winter crown  
Falling like snow across my summer skin.  
Your mouth a perfect “O” of surprise and delight,  
An endless circle of rediscovery  
As a rosy dawn creeps across your cheeks.  
Lashes flickering -  
Dark wings fluttering  
when you take flight,  
Singing my name across the heavens.

I am strung tight as a bowstring,  
Held light and firm in your practised grip,  
as you draw me back -  
Further -  
to my limits -  
and I fear I might snap  
under your sure strength  
As you coax me an inch more and -  
I am released -  
Arching ---  
Still quivering  
As the arrow drives deep into the heart of its target;  
Still trembling  
as I am cradled by calloused fingertips,  
pulled taut across a smooth chest by strong shoulders and you say,  
"Again."

When I stand on your shore  
and you slide around me, caressing, coaxing, drawing me deeper;  
When I am floating with moonlight streaming between my fingers,  
Staring at stars reflected in your ocean depths;  
When your storm breaks  
and I am tossed on your raging swells,  
A wreck of a man  
Begging you to pull me under with your liquid grace,  
To fill my mouth with your name  
So I may drown with you in my lungs -

Will you carry me down gently to my rest,  
and carefully strip away all that is excess  
‘Til I am nought but bleached bones -  
As clean  
And lily white bright as you -  
To be ground down into countless humble grains of sand,  
So that a single one  
May be transformed into something smooth and layered and lustrous -  
Worthy of your lily white bright beauty?

My honey tongue  
Your sea glass eyes  
And seafoam hair  
Breaking on my honey skin.  
Salt and sweet.  
And I would adorn you in sticky drops -  
Amber jewels to be licked clean,  
Coat my tongue,  
and rub salt in my wounds to carry you with me.

One day

Children will look up at the sky,  
And their grandparents will point at the twin stars  
And tell them about the Bear and the Fish,  
And how they will circle with each other forever,  
Coming together and parting in an endless, unbroken dance,  
For separation is temporary,  
And distance an illusion,  
When we carry the other within ourselves.

And I know  
I do not love you -  
Love is blinding suffocating madness,  
But you are clear, cold water  
and rain on my lips;  
Salt spray on my face.  
Clean  
Cleansing.

And I know  
You do not love me -  
Love makes me chase guess doubt  
But you were there, waiting -  
Lily white bright light in the darkness -  
Waiting for me to find my way back to you.  
Patient  
Waiting  
For me  
to find my way back to you.

No, this isn't love,  
because love is a choice,  
and there was never a choice -  
There was only you.

Always you.

 _Aishiteru_.

Yours forever under the peach trees ***** ,

Your Shunsui

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kozakana_ \- little fish [I think... I hope]  
>  _Aishiteru_ \- I LOVE love you, like, you are my life my soul my breath my everything; I would kill for you - I would DIE for you - my snookums honey-puff sweetie pie doll-faced darling brb I'm fetching you the moon and stars you'd better be in a very compromising position by the time I return. [At least, that's what I infer from the way it is used]
> 
>  ***** “ _... We seek not to be born on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. We merely hope to die on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. May the Gods of Heaven and Earth attest to what is in our hearts…_ ”  
> \- [Oath of the Peach Garden](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oath_of_the_Peach_Garden)
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Lovers can be summed up in one word: _Choice_. I know, not what you were expecting, but if you look at the card, you can see the choices it points to: the choice to make an independent decision in disobeying the Word of God; the choice to learn right from wrong by eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; and the choice to suffer all the subsequent choices this knowledge brings with it. Most importantly, the choice to embrace personal autonomy and all the pain and doubt and failure that comes with it.
> 
> The oldest versions of the Lovers card depicts a man having to choose between two women, representing [Virtue](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6f/07/7b/6f077be3d97b39e71d2c5a75d33aaac7.jpg) (or Will i.e. restraint), and [Sensuality](https://www.deviantart.com/jodeee/art/The-Lovers-VI-610932351) (or Appetite). Of course it’s always the woman’s fault, isn’t it? It’s always the woman being forced into fulfilling a role so that some man can work through his mommy issues. Prude or slut; frigid or easy; virgin or whore. But on an esoteric level, feminine energy is linked to the subconscious - remember the High Priestess, she who guards the Temple of Inner Wisdom? 
> 
> The true choice then is whether to remain in a state of innocence - and ignorance - a la the Garden of Eden, or to trust your intuition and the wisdom within you (snakes are a symbol of wisdom), and follow where they lead. Whereas purity means denying the world and your part in it, sensuality means opening up to, and rolling around in, all the glorious experiences life has to offer.
> 
> Such as love. Love which brings equal measures of pleasure, pain, joy, misery - transcendence. 
> 
> Love is a choice. Choose wisely.


	7. VII The Chariot - Byakuya Kuchiki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story. THIS STORY. It just... refused to **yield**. This isn't the whimsical folk tale I wanted! Every time I managed to wrestle it to the ground, it grew an extra arm, and I have no idea why!? Byakuya is usually so easy to write, but this? SEVEN rewrites (how fitting). I don't know at this point, but I guess the struggle to pick a direction and go with it is par for the course with The Chariot. Whatever - I wash my hands of this trash.

### Key VII : The Chariot

####  _I do what I want!  
Quit trying to control me -  
I'm a big boy now!_

#####  “A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.” \- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

An angry young man throws himself dramatically onto his bed. He screams into the futon, hot cheeks pressed into the fabric, even hotter tears soaking the dense stuffing. Embarrassment, rage, self-pity, disgust, hurt - the maelstrom is muffled and absorbed, permitting no evidence of his childish conduct to betray him. They expect better. _He_ expects better.

His life is defined by expectations, his every behaviour dictated, every moment of his day accounted for in preparation for the future roles he is to fulfill. 

He does his best; he tries so hard to be what he is expected to be, to be who he is expected to be; chokes down the envy that threatens to burn him alive from the inside whenever he sees the commoners moving about freely; ignores the crushing loneliness that constricts his heart, despite the dozens of attendants that surround him; denies the aching desire that penetrates his very bones, to be allowed one day - just _one_ day - of autonomy. Wills these feelings away; buries them under heavy layers of self-loathing and shame. 

The keening hole of “want” inside him becomes harder to ignore, insists on being filled - filled or it will consume him. So he gives it pride. Pride in his family. Pride in his duty. Pride in denying himself.

And still he is dismissed.

With a single word. He does not warrant a glance. He is not worthy of even that small recognition.

The proud, angry, hurt young man’s storm-grey eyes match the storm raging within his soul.

He knows his behaviour is unbecoming - which angers him further - and he hates that he cares - which angers him further - and he hates that he _doesn’t_ care - which angers him _further_ \- and he hates the constant reminders that he’s supposed to care - which angers him _even_ further - and the layers of anger press tightly against each other until their edge is as keen as a Muramasa blade sliding across his hot, burning throat and he screams into the whirlwind of his soul and his anger finally shatters ----

into quiet black ----

and he dreams ----

Byakuya dreams of one day being worthy of his name - quiet, and peaceful and still as a winter night.

And he dreams of one day being worthy of his family’s name and position in society; of wearing the _kenseikan_ and _ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu_ ; of being a captain in the Gotei 13 like his grandfather, and all the clan heads before him. Of being worthy of the Kuchiki legacy. 

He dreams of one day being worthy of recognition. Of praise from his grandfather. Of outstripping the Princess. Of speaking and being heard. Of respect.

Of finally forgetting what the flush of humiliation hot across his cheeks, feels like.

Byakuya dreams of one day being worthy of this house that is not his home.  
It is _Their home_. Filled with Their things. Reflecting Their desires. Reminders of Their history.  
Their house is unchanging. Their world is unchanging, and They expect him to be unchanging too.

(He has everything, and yet he has nothing. Nothing of his own. If the world is his, why does he feel so empty?)

Their house is made of wood and paper and dead things - the very air suffocating and lifeless - made of stark, square corners --- but his home is the Mansion of the Moon, cool, and soft and round, equal parts light and dark, caressed by breezes; contradictory but whole, ever in flux. Ever moving. Never static.

The proud, angry, hurt, confused young man dreams of burning Their house with its walls that close in on him, stifle him, squeeze the breath from him until he sits panting in the dark, the heel of his hand pressed between his teeth so that no one will hear, as coppery-salt fills his mouth and ---- he dreams of burning it to the ground with the cold fire of his self-hatred. He dreams of chaos. He dreams of being the eye of the storm.

Byakuya dreams of turning, facing Them, showing the true light of his Self with all its imperfections, and of being loved regardless. His _full_ face, not a mere sliver, the portion deemed acceptable. Worthy. Byakuya dreams of being worthy; of Them taking as much pride in him as he does in Their world.

He dreams of calling down the moonlight (so much like his skin) and fashioning it into silver armour as cold and distant as the black depths that hold the stars; bright enough to reflect back what the world wants to see; bright enough to blind them to his failings; bright enough to hide behind (to hide him?) He will be untouchable. Unreachable.

Sobs wrack his body with such violence that it feels as if his skin might split. He is too big for this small, constricted shell that binds him and prevents him from growing - he is more than this! He is **more**.

Byakuya dreams of being free. Free.

Free.

Even in his dream he is afraid.

He dreams of saying, “No.”

Even in his dream he is stubborn.

He dreams of making a decision that is his, and his alone.

Even in his dream he is defeated.

He dreams of running and he dreams of standing. Fighting.

Byakuya feels a wall of heat erupt behind him. A small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. His home --- _Their_ home --- is burning. He runs. He runs until the city walls are far behind him, his face split in a savage grin. He keeps his bare feet on the ground - he wants to feel this escape, this action - _his_ action. Two _jinmenken_ ***** run on either side of him, black and white, picking up speed every time he seems to be outstripping them; a challenge to his determination and commitment to **run**. 

He runs until he finds himself in a clearing he recognises well. He has come full circle back to the family compound, but the house is gone and he is surrounded by cherry trees - rows ----- no, they aren’t in rows - they grow as they please. Cherry trees in full bloom, as far as he can see, their scent filling the night, tiny white moths flitting from one blossom the next. At the centre of the clearing is a lake, the surface calm and mirrored like black glass in the moonlight.

The proud, angry, hurt, confused, stubborn young man lies down in the snow, lungs burning, and stares up at the eternal stars enclosed in a ring of delicate pink transience.

His eyes drift shut and he dreams of hot blood falling like a gentle rain of petals. He dreams of catching the drops on his tongue, his hair soaked heavy and slick and his porcelain skin stained with gore. He moans, and his left-hand reaches for something that isn’t there.

Someone calls his name...

Byakuya opens his eyes to find himself standing at the edge of the lake of blood at the centre of the cherry grove. He sees his reflection - the dark side of the moon - and together they laugh - a wild, feral sound echoing in two voices. He drops to his knees and lowers his face to the surface until his nose touches his twin’s, and sinks his head below the surface ----

Byakuya rears up from the damp futon with a heaving gasp, a name on his lips ---

_“Senbonzakura.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** _Jinmenken_ \- dogs with human faces  
> [That "Kuchiki" translates to something like "Decayed Tree", and Byakuya to "White Night" - Knight - makes me very happy.]
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Chariot can be summed up as: _Will & Control_. I see it as being about **identity**. Self-assertion, self-determination, transformation, empowerment, persona, self-discipline, inner struggle, contradiction - it's all about _who you are_ \- and who you want to be - and the path you take to get there. Whose voice do you listen to? What is your goal?
> 
> There is a certain level of immaturity to The Chariot, so it primarily signifies outer growth, not inner. It is the independent child, the teenager discovering who they are for themselves, while still being under the control of the Mother (3) and the Father (4). Naturally, it is loaded with conflict - a creature of two worlds (child? adult?) much like the sign of Cancer the Crab that rules it, often torn between duty (what I _should_ do) and desire (what I want to do), coming at things from the side rather than head-on (and achieving very little). 
> 
> EMOTIONS, y'all. Byakuya is a bit of a romantic under all that stoic composure, and kid Byakuya was canonically a handful. But then all that got bottled up and repressed, resulting in the emotionally stunted creature that couldn't even choose between family and the law - so he just... walked away. RAN away, at a leisurely pace. And it's not because he _doesn't_ feel (he feels too much) it's that he _won't_. Byakuya has listened to his own a voice a grand total of one (1) time, and that ended in the greatest pain of his life (with absolutely stellar long-term effects).
> 
> The number 7 is a bit of a non-conformist that often takes "bucking-the-system" all the way into "chaos" territory, representing a strong sense of personal independence - but without boundaries. It can also indicate a time of silence and solitude in which to question oneself, as seven is very much an "inner" number, in contrast to The Chariot's greater involvement with the world - all just more conflict that has to be resolved if the charioteer ever hopes to reach his destination.
> 
> \--- As I have learned (with much HGRRRRRRRGHHHHH-ing and pulling of hair) - you can lead a story to water but you can't make it fucking cooperate _goddamnit wHY WON'T YOU **COOPERATE??!**_.


	8. VIII Strength - Unohana Retsu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, sure, the Visored are the perfect fit for the battle with our inner animal natures that Strength represents, but _Unohana_ \- come **on**. [To understand this one on a mythological level, look up the Egyptian goddess/es Sekhmet-Hathor: the heart-devouring/warming talk of a bloodthirsty killer, adept at healing, who is transformed into a Mom without losing her claws.]

### Key VIII : Strength

####  _What is in your mouth??  
Bad kitty! D r o p i t... D R O P I T...  
Yup. You swallowed it._

#####  “Humanity is a cage, and our puritanical sensibilities comprise the bars. We are confined by our own reason and intellect, and yet most of us don't even know it.” \- Nenia Campbell

Unohana Yachiru’s first memories are of blood. 

The smell.  
The taste.  
The feel of it thick and slick between her fingertips.

Unohana Yachiru’s first memories are of blood, and how good it felt.

She was four years old.

Unohana Yachiru met a man in the wilderness.

He tried to kill her, she tried to kill him. Both came close to succeeding, but found themselves too well matched.

The man had fire in him and said he would show her how to harness her own, if she would join him.

Unohana Yachiru knew she had no fire in her, only blood, but the Fire Man promised her more blood, so she agreed.

She could always kill him later if she changed her mind.

Unohara Yachiru met her soul in the middle of a bloodbath.

She held a man’s heart in her hand, and when she bit into the warm, firm meat, something in her roared.

The roar filled the emptiness inside her - filled her to bursting, and she threw her head back to let the roar run wild across the battlefield, crushing the heart in her hand and licking the blood that ran down her arm. 

She purred. Her soul purred.

_“More.”_

Yes. _More._

Unohana Yachiru became a scourge.

More.

She became Death.

_More._

Relentless, merciless, Death - red in tooth and claw.

_MORE._

Always hungry, never satisfied. Panting, pacing, prowling ----

**_MORE._ **

Unohana Yachiru was drunk on rage.

Her dry, pitiless wrath scorched the land like the noonday sun - none could escape her sight; none could evade her touch.

She was the Fire Man’s red right hand. His red right eye. His Will - indiscriminate and unquestioning. He pointed “There”, and Unohana Yachiru charged in in a swathe of blood, fangs bared, already feeling hot arterial spray coating her face, her tongue, her throat ----

And she danced. 

Unohana Yachiru danced, the sword in her hand her partner, moving effortlessly together in smooth, coordinated steps. Whirling, spinning, swinging, roaring, cutting, roaring, biting, ROARING -

**R O A R I N G.**

Frenzydeliriumeuphoria ----

Blood is the sweetest liquor, and Unohana Yachiru was intoxicated.

Unohana Yachiru did not know how many had died by her dripping blade.

She cared not for their names.

Their faces were a patchwork cape she drew around her perennially unscarred body to keep warm; wrapped herself up in and inhaled the memories of screaming mouths and bulging eyes; fathers begging and mothers crying; the scent of burning thatch and hair. The more they ran, the sweeter the kill.

And she never tired of the chase.

Unohana Yachiru was at the height of her power when the Fire Man came to her and said they would be rejoining the world of man.

She tried to kill him; tried to tear his heart out with her bare hands, but he deceived her with herbs in her drink, and she fell into a stupor -

to awake, bound, surrounded by humanity - soft, weak, delicious humanity, and she threw her head back ----

but her soul was quiet. 

The Fire Man had bound that too.

Unohana Yachiru filled the silence with the depth and breadth of his betrayal, and hid herself in the long grass.

The Fire Man named her the Kenpachi.

_The Undefeated_.

Unohana Yachiru made this insult seasoning to the hot betrayal simmering in her soul, and silently flicked her tail.

Unohana Yachiru waited.

She paced the boundaries of her cage; testing, always testing.

She learned to heal herself, building stamina, becoming unkillable.

She struck down those she was aimed at with even greater savagery than she had before, becoming a legend.

Until the unthinkable happened:

Unohana Yachiru found there was no one left worth killing.

A boy.

Only a boy.

Wild, savage, feral; armed with a dead man’s blade, as chipped and scarred as he was.

He flew at her with no heed for his own safety, killing intent bursting from him like bright yellow noonday sunlight, howling for blood.

And Unohana Yachiru smiled.

This was the boy who would replace her. This was the boy who would kill her.

She kept the mark he gave her, hiding it from the world like the sacred gift it was.

Unohana Yachiru returned to the Fire Man and announced she would be a healer.

She named herself “ _Retsu_ ” ***** so that they would not forget. So that she would not forget.

And with her new face and her new vocation, her demon soul adapted too, becoming softer, more matronly. _Domesticated_.

Unohana Retsu learned to smile, instead of snarl; to touch without rending flesh; to turn her head when she licked her lips at the smell of blood.

She learned to appear human.

And the bonds slackened. 

But Unohana Retsu waited.

And now, Unohana Retsu is free. Her bestial soul shakes its mane and roars. Everyone will bear witness to her true form.

Unohana Retsu rises from the long grass, and _c h a r g e s_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** _Retsu_ \- "violent"
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- Strength can be summed up as: _Inner-balance_ [I really like the word "grit"]. It is the point where you realise that obstacles can be overcome with mercy, just as well as with severity, and that true strength cannot grow to be a powerful force without grace and a kind hand. It is remembering that strength is not about using your power to control others, but to stop others from using their power to control you.
> 
> It is typically assumed that the fair maiden is gently closing the mouth of the foul rampaging beast, but she could just as easily be prying it open. There is a time and a place where a certain lack of control and relying on one's instincts may be beneficial. It takes self-knowledge to know when this time is, and where the divide within yourself lies, it tales self-discipline not to cross that line without cause, and it takes courage to rely on one's inner resources when it is needed. This is _strength_.
> 
> Confronting one's natural desires isn't easy, and it isn't always pleasant. Your inner "lion" doesn't have to be a wild, slavering, murder-machine - even a lion plushie can be a Problem under the right circumstances. The trick is to get creative with what you've got - play to your strengths. The aim is not to completely squash the beast, but to work with it so that it learns - and wants - to work with you too.
> 
> tl;dr taming your inner Hollow, Berry-style!


	9. IX The Hermit - Coyote Starrk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one diverges from canon because sometimes you have to get a little creative with what you've been given. 
> 
>   
> **~LAMP~.**

### Key IX : The Hermit

####  _Goddamn GPS.  
Welcome to Lost-as-Fuck-Ville,  
Population: Me._

#####  “Loneliness is the human condition. No one is ever going to fill that space. The best you can do is know yourself; know what you want.” \- Janet Fitch

There is solitude -

and then there is loneliness.

Solitude is a choice - a retreat from whatever noise is overwhelming you in order to rediscover yourself and your place in the world. A time for meditation, reflection, healing.

Loneliness is a slow, agonizing wasting away by degrees, measured in days, weeks, years. Measured in tears. 

Loneliness is death.

_A man walks into the desert…_

The creature that would one day be known as Coyote Starrk wandered the endless sands of Hueco Mundo in search of its fellows. It knew instinctively that it was searching for “pack”; that “pack” would stop the hurt.

If it had understood the concept of irony, it might have mused on the fact that it was seeking its kind not to consume in a violent cannibalistic act in order to gain power, but for company. _Weakness_. That it was willing to give up territorial holds purely for company was weakness, and yet still not weak enough. It would never be weak enough.

Had the creature been more philosophically inclined, it might have ruminated on the implications of a being - comprised of countless thousands of souls - being lonely.

But it was not, and yet they were. They were lonely, and no amount of philosophizing would cure that.

They were lonely because their strength - the one thing all of their kind strove for relentlessly, and on which their very survival and advancement depended - had become so great, that there was not a single opponent left who could challenge them, who could threaten them. The creature envied the weak; it envied those who had reason to strive, to fight, to _live_.

One day their isolation led to a single soul - the strongest of the countless thousands that formed the whole - rising to the top, and Coyote Starrk was born. Perhaps as a unified being they would be less likely to overwhelm the others they shared the desert with; perhaps now they would be weak enough to fall.

_Coyote Starrk remembered being alone. He remembered one of his lives --- no, **his** life --- he had lived in a cave, away from the tribe, but he was never lonely. He often had visitors, seeking his wisdom, his skill with plants for healing (and other purposes), his ability to speak with - and exorcise - the dead. And when he would don the wolf mask and set the ancient jawbone around his neck, he spoke with the voice of the gods and was revered for being strong enough to horse for them._

But, if anything, their evolution made things worse.

The first time it happened had been the hardest. Starrk had approached a group of Hollows, only to obliterate them with the sheer force of his reiatsu when they were barely within seeing distance. He stood rooted to the spot for an unknown amount of time, watching the dust twirl and disperse. He fared no better in his encounters with _adjuchas_ either, though they simply fell down and died (he did them the honour of consuming their flesh, but it didn't take long for him to lose his appetite for meat he hadn’t killed in a fair fight). 

When he had - unintentionally - killed every Hollow within a week’s _sonido_ distance around him - his massive, ravenous reiatsu unrepentantly sucking them in and devouring them - Starrk finally had to admit defeat, the trail of bodies and dust left behind in his wake a grim reminder of the devastating effects of his presence on those around him.

Trapped in the strong jaws and sharp teeth of his own grief and madness, he took to injuring himself - gravely, and in every way imaginable - in an attempt to return to his _adjuchas_ state, or simply debilitate himself in some way that would diminish his power and allow him to escape, but he was simply too strong; his regeneration too rapid. 

Finally, unable to endure the aching emptiness within him any longer, Coyote Starrk resorted to protecting himself and those around him in the only way he knew how - by retreating into sleep. Sleep to pass the interminable, immeasurable Hueco Mundo night; sleep to dull the sharp edge of loneliness that cut through his soul; sleep to escape the mind-numbing boredom of an eternal existence filled with nothing but yet more eternity. To sleep, perchance to dream; to sleep perchance to heal his broken mind.

_Coyote Starrk remembered a girl. She was… his sister? His daughter? She was nobody’s; she was his. She carried the torch when he quested, blind, through the wilderness; was his guide when he stumbled over things that weren’t there. She held the bowl of foul and bitter herbs that brought his visions; she held the bowl of water when he was sick for days afterwards. She was his pupil and his aid, enhancing his magic with skills uniquely her own and giving him strength when he had none. She was his voice. And she was his joy._

Starrk summoned the light he remembered from within his soul mass, and separated it from himself. The split was a pain unlike any he could recall, and for a time he was certain he would (finally) die, but when he opened his eyes - there she was, holding his hands as she had done countless times before. And then she kicked him in the head and Coyote Starrk realised that perhaps their relationship had undergone some changes over the eons. He didn’t care - he was no longer alone, and that was worth being smacked half to death and yelled at every day for the rest of his life.

The pair spent their time aimlessly kicking about their vast and featureless home. Lilynette - as she named herself - was the sun that lit the cold, barren desert landscape - fierce, relentless and unavoidable. Starrk almost longed for the time when he could simply sleep away his existence, but that feeling melted away in the face of the sheer joy Lily took in dragging him out of his slumber in order to chase him across the dunes, whooping with delight. 

Sadly, the division of his soul had done nothing to diminish the effect of his spiritual pressure on his fellow Hollows, and the dream of a pack remained out of his reach; and while he and Lily couldn’t avoid feeling lonely sometimes, at least they were lonely together.

Until loneliness halved, became loneliness doubled.

The devil found the holy man and the child warrior surrounded by a mountain of the dead, and he knew his search was over. It was all too easy - just as it had been last time. A kind smile, a promise, and the most powerful being in this hollow world submitted willingly to a chain around his neck, all while his little guide kicked and screamed and warned him against it (some part of her remembered). But loneliness is the purest form of desperation, and Coyote Starrk was very, very lonely.

_And Coyote Starkk remembered._

But by then it was too late.

And so a man walks out of the desert…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Hermit can be summed up as: _Illumination_ , both the seeking and attaining of. Self-awareness, enlightenment, mentoring, faith - the Hermit represents every which way we seek for, and follow, our guiding light in order to develop on a more spiritual level. This kind of development is very personal and, while we can be shown the way, it is a journey that must typically be made alone. And so the Hermit also represents solitariness, and with solitariness comes the risk of isolation.
> 
> Coyote Starrk shares many characteristics with the Wise Man archetype, from his peaceful, non-confrontational attitude to his nomadic nature. His high tolerance for tedium is extremely zen, but his skills as a highly analytical and observant tactician demonstrate the keen intelligence hiding behind a complete and utter lack of motivation. Although everything about him - from his name to his resurrección - paints Starrk as a "lonesome cowboy", I think he is more accurately a combination of warrior poet and gunslinging drifter - someone who is Tired Of All This Shit but will throw down if pushed [though the gloves never come off] and take care of business as quickly and efficiently as possible.
> 
> Starrk's whole life seems to be one irony after the other. Even surrounded by arrancar and espada, he was alone [Aizen promised him comrades, not companions]. They say it's lonely at the top, and Starrk is proof of this - one is indeed the loneliest number [and the cheese stands forever alone :C]. Though they will pair up [Starrk & Lilynette] or form groups to hunt and defend territory, coyotes have a strong tendency to be solitary. Wolves, however are pack animals. How cruel then that when Starrk calls on Los Lobos [The Wolves] - his true form -, he loses his companion. Poor fucker can't seem to catch a break. Even the wolves he summons are a sign of his desperate need to belong... _some_ where, to _some_ thing. 
> 
> Humans are pack animals who need and seek companionship too. The Hermit teaches that, in order to be able to truly join another, you must first be able to be truly alone with yourself, otherwise any union made will be born out of fear of solitude [and that's how you land up a slave to the Aizens of the world]. But at some point you have to leave your cave and rejoin the world, or else what is the point of all that navel-gazing? 
> 
> The wise man knows when to lay his guns down, 
> 
> but he also knows when to fight.
> 
> [9 is a number of completion, of eternal regeneration - the end is the beginning is the end, aka get fucked coming and going.]


	10. X The Wheel of Fortune - Soul Society & Cycle of Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fate can be a fickle bitch so I decided to let Her spin the roulette wheel/random number generator for herself on this one. I asked, and she answered! ~~Also I have severe insomnia and have not had 1 [one] single solitary rational thought in weeks~~ [This one got long… next one’s a character again!]

### Key X : The Wheel of Fortune

####  _Round and round it goes,  
Where it stops, nobody knows!  
(...I need a Gravol)_

#####  “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” \- Haruki Marukami  
"The root of suffering is attachment" \- The Buddha

#### IN THIS ESSAY I WILL

 **Soul Society** is a shithole (I’m right and I should say it). Now I know it’s designed to reflect the cycle of (re)death and rebirth in all its soul-”refining” glory --- doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t see why you should spend your entire life licking boots and sucking ass, only to find out that the afterlife is just more of the same - only !WORSE! - and the dream of some kind of relief - whether paradise or the sweet embrace of the Void - is practically unattainable. I don’t find that particularly inspiring, y’know? Maybe I’m ~~born with it~~ just too western-minded, maybe I’m just in a constant state of fury at how women can still be considered impure garbage in a spiritual philosophy that is otherwise truly incredible. Y’KNOW?

ANYways.

So the Wheel of Fortune - pretty obvious. Wheel goes up, wheel goes down. We live, we die, and in between those two points, Fate - the 3-faced bitch - has her wicked way with us (no lube for you!) The Wheel represents not only the cyclical/circular nature of existence, but also the circles and cycles found _within_ that existence. Think of it as Russian nesting circles operating on different axes (horizontal, vertical, transverse - the whole lot), all contained within a big ol’ bubble called EXISTENCE. So you’ve got your Life In The Grand Scheme of Things (cycle of rebirth) presiding over your Life As You Know It (present incarnation), comprised of all the individual Aspects of Living (circle of friends, circle of influence, habits etc.) that populate your 75-80ish years on this godsforsaken earthly plain.

Soul Society follows this pattern too, being comprised of rings-within-rings. From the inside out:  


  * Gotei 13 as an organization, containing 13 individual squad spheres
  * Central 46, which is separate from the Gotei, but still their authority (ie. contains them)
  * Seireitei (Court of “Pure” Souls oh my sides), made up of varying levels of nobility and regular souls (born and “immigrated”) who somehow managed to make it to the promised land
  * Rukongai - literally made of circular districts surrounding the Seireitei, spreading outwards like ripples of ever-increasing poverty, suffering and degradation



What’s super neato swell oh gosh is that the Wheel of Fortune card even manages to encapsulate the four major beings of the Bleachverse (not including Visoreds, Fullbringers and other hybrids):  


  * The Angel represents Humans/humanity (Aquarius is Luna Lovegood. We are all Luna Lovegood.)
  * The Eagle represents Shinigami (Scorpio is associated with death. Shinigami are natural born edgelords.)
  * The Lion represents the Quincy (Leo is the ~~BO$$~~ pure bright light of the sun. It’s also pride and ego.)
  * The Bull represents Hollows (Taurus is earthly desires ie. animal instincts, and hard-headedness. You can all catch these horns ~~and this dyick~~.)



This demonstrates that nobody is immune to The Wheel and its effects, though it is possible to climb off the Great Fidget Spinner Of the Gods - as these four have done - through wisdom, self-understanding and adhering to the 8-fold path of right-mindedness.

#### IN SUPPORT OF THIS THESIS

I thought up a few questions relating to the general idea of the Cycle of Rebirth - and just ~happened~ to come up with ten because of _course_ I just ~happened~ to come up with ten -, then used a random number generator to pick tarot cards to answer these exceptionally Deep and Meaningful queries into the nature of the human condition, once-and-for-bloody-all. SO:

**1\. Define _Saṃsāra_ \--- 45: [9 of Cups](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fc/4e/c9/fc4ec99042c8731761f0f491e9260706.jpg)**  
9 is the completion of a cycle, after which naturally follows the beginning of the next - on and on and on. The end is the beginning is the end. This is _Saṃsāra_ \- an unending cycle of suffering, punctuated by (re)death and re-becoming. Cups is the suit of emotions, as well as the soul, appropriately enough. Here the 9C is giving me “to each as he deserves” vibes, which is an integral part of the cycle of rebirth - live a shitty life and you’ll get knocked down a peg on your next do-over; behave and you might just get to level-up.

 **2\. What is the essence of _Dharma/Dao_? --- 17: [The Star](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/8f/69/81/8f6981b8423661c68b78cbdd7687805a.jpg)**  
_Dharma_ is the path (doctrine) of hope and truth that leads away from suffering, to inner peace; clarity; healing. It holds the keys to awakening to one’s own spiritual nature and gaining understanding on an intuitive level how it fits into the natural, ordered flow of the Universe. It offers the means to pull back the curtain - however briefly - on the ineffable background functioning of existence as a whole. 

Unlike the moon, stars provide their own light, and they are constant and unchanging. Unlike the sun, their light does not burn or blind us. Stars are friends, guides; their pure, twinkling light is both inspirational and aspirational. When all else fails, look to the stars. 

**3\. Which[Realm of Rebirth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sa%E1%B9%83s%C4%81ra_\(Buddhism\)#Realms_of_rebirth) does Soul Society represent? --- 16: [The Tower](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/af/0f/4f/af0f4f250a8652148835a3a93099f523.jpg)**  
The Tower is one of the most dreaded cards in the whole deck, as it frequently indicates your life-as-you-know-it coming crashing down around your ears. However, at its core, it’s a really, really, **really** deep spring cleaning for your Life. Reality gets busted wide open, enlightenment streams in, Galaxy Brain happens all over the place, and the squatters are booted out. In lieu of dusting, the walls get scrubbed and the floors get stripped until not a single speck of wrong-belief remains. You may or may not have an actual livable space at the end of it all, but hey! don’t you smell all lemony fresh!

Sounds suspiciously like purgatory to me, so I’m saying _Preta_ realm?

 **4\. What is the meaning of Life? --- 42:[6 of Cups](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2f/d1/66/2fd166d447647169c924d659dc7449fa.jpg)**  
( **OMG.** For anyone who isn’t a giant Douglas Adams nerd, the answer to the Meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything is 42. Can’t make this shit up.)  
Yo, be excellent to each other. Don’t be an asshole. You get what you give. Cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Do all things with love. Approach every choice with love. LOVE, motherfuckers - do we need to say any of this louder for the people in the back?

 **5\. What is the meaning of Death? --- 23:[Ace of Wands](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/8d/8a/4b/8d8a4b3c72248dc2ae6a89fe6570c88b.jpg)**  
The Ace is number 1 - the beginning - and the fiery suit of Wands is associated with the Spirit, the Spark of Life! I like the idea of death being the beginning of a new cycle of rebirth, rather than the end. If it was more commonly seen this way, I think there would be a lot less fear surrounding the inevitable way of all flesh. ~~Then again, it could just be about the Universe being a giant raging dick one last time.~~ This card pairs wonderfully with the 9 of Cups in Q.1, as 1 follows naturally after 9.

 **6\. What’s _Karma_ got to do with it? --- 57: [7 of Swords](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c1/11/26/c11126d74742a220c836879f0d1f8124.jpg)**  
Ohhhhh nooooo, it’s one of those cards; the ones that make you go “ughhhh”. The 7 of Swords is the “sneak” card, depicting a man stealing an armful of swords - presumably in the middle of the night - with a satisfied little smirk plastered on his face. But what if - what if - he’s stealing the swords in order to prevent a battle? What if the people he’s stealing from are the real Bad Guys? What if this small wrong results in a significantly more impactful right?

Maybe _Karma_ has a lot to do with the _motivations_ behind your actions. Which is worse/better: doing good for the wrong cause, or doing wrong for the right cause? Do the ends justify the means? Maybe “right” and “wrong” are wibbly wobbly and need to be constantly re-evaluated on a case-by-case basis (and you’ll probably still get it wrong because we are all selfish meat sacks at the end of the day *cough* **Hollows** *cough*). 

**7\. Why is suffering necessary for growth? --- 63:[Queen of Swords](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ec/c5/6f/ecc56f4057a1687edee25b163126a5c0.jpg)** [NSFW]  
‘Cos it keeps you sharp. Helps you trim away everything that’s holding you back, for if thine eye - or thine leg, or thine shitty attitude - offends thee and causeth thee much agonie, thou ist far more likely to get rid of the damn thing. If attachment leads to suffering, the Queen of Swords shows the state of right-minded clarity of thought and detachment that’s perfect for whittling away excess baggage. 

**8\. Life sucks hard enough - why should the afterlife/death? --- 75:[Page of Pentacles](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/26/af/58/26af58f2c6e33aae842503cc82709012.jpg)**  
The messenger of earth… hmm. Getting a strong “you reap what you sow” vibe here, as in “life’s what you make it”. If each lifetime is the field in which the seeds of our personal afterlife is planted, then what we do with that lifetime is the fertilizer, determining how rich the soil of our soul garden is. Not only do we need to pay attention to what we plant, we also need to be aware of _where_ we plant. It’s cumulative, in a way; you need to be better than your past self in order to create a superlative existence for Future You.

 **9\. How do non-attachment?? --- 50:[King of Cups](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e9/44/84/e94484a85253769950763feee99f3ac2.jpg)**  
Start by realising that loss is inevitable - you can’t hold water in your hand no matter how firm your grasp. So let go.  
Then acknowledge that you are probably (for the most part) desperately holding onto things of which there is actually plenty to go ‘round - the ocean will remain, and will remain vast, whether you hold onto it or not. So let go.  
An open heart will allow the entirety of the human experience - the good, the bad, the ugly - to flow through you like water, there… and gone… and then the next... So let go.

 **10\. How to quit the wheel and achieve ~~ _Nirvana_ ~~ --- [3: The Empress](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/29/6b/54/296b54e09094bff4a58e430f5b6eca0f.jpg)**  
The environment the Empress sits in has big Garden of Eden ie. paradise energy. The presence of a Major Arcana card here tells me that it isn’t easy, or simple; and yet the Empress is an archetype accessible within everyone: living life to the fullest, with joy; taking care of others; filling your days with love and beauty; being aware of the world and how incredible it is and that you are a part of that wonder, but not letting it consume you. **LIVE** , and _live well_. The rest will sort itself out.

Ultimately, we are the agents of our own re **birth**. We decide. Hooray for us.

#### ... IN CONCLUSION,

If the afterlife is suffering, then we should all do our damndest to make sure life isn’t.  
The corollary to this is that, in doing so, the afterlife will be less miserable too.  
And then the next rebirth will be further disinclined to focus on pain, and so on. Et voila!

Whether this is approach is one of turning the wheel clockwise or anti-, I don’t know, but the wheel must turn, and you can come willingly or be dragged behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Wheel of Fortune can be summed up as: _Cycles_. 
> 
> The snek on the left represents Spirit’s descent into Matter ie. being born, along with snakes being a powerful symbol of wisdom in many cultures throughout the ages. It is also, however, often equated with Typhon (a monstrous storm giant), or Set (the closest thing the Ancient Egyptians had to Satan), as Spirit is automatically “corrupted” when it takes on a material form. There’s also that whole pesky Original Sin business if you’re into that sort of thing.
> 
> Anubis on the right shows that same Spirit making its way back to Source once it shucks its mortal coil. The next card in the progression of the Major Arcana is Justice, where Anubis plays a key role in deciding just what kind of afterlife a soul goes on to enjoy (or not). The Sphinx of reason balances on top, representing gods and kings - the most elevated form Matter can take. The quixotic sphinx is a sign that, although we can never hope to understand the functioning of the greater reality we exist in, knowledge, strength and right-thought are the tools needed to stay us on top of things.


	11. XI Justice - Tōsen Kaname

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, can anybody guess what time is it? 
> 
> That's right — IT'S TŌSEN TIME!  
> 

### Key XI : Justice

####  _Justice will be served,  
But you're not gonna like it.  
Prepare thine butthole._

#####  “Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity.” \- Alexander Solzhenitsyn  


Tōsen Kaname is in love with Justice.

— Hmm, no, that isn’t quite accurate.

Tōsen Kaname has a _raging boner_ for Justice.

A hard-on for honour. I’m saying virtue and ethics make him stiff as a board. The mere mention of Her name gives him morning, noon and night wood. He pops a — well, you get the picture.

Justice, for Her part, wishes he’d lose just her number. _And stop telling people they’re together_ , for the love of Themis!

But you know how those men are - they shoulder-check you on the street (because gods forbid they move out of your way) and suddenly they’re certified experts who know more about you than anybody else, yourself included.

They know what you _truly_ want.  
They know what you _really_ think.  
They know what’s _actually_ best for you.

(Spoiler alert: It’s them. You’re welcome, m’ladies.)

They’ll never admit that they are merely in love with the _idea_ of you. Reality is ugly; fantasy can be lovingly, painstakingly, sculpted into Pygmalion-like — and anatomically absurd — perfection. And when they grow bored with the artificial happiness they’ve created, they can just tear it down and start again. (Too bad it’s not that easy in real life, but they’ll try; oh, they’ll try.)

If there were any true justice in the world, there would be a “Banishment To The Isle Of Mansplaining” law where those men could all sit together and write their novels about the idealised concept of womanhood that has never - and _will_ never - exist and jerk each other off in a perpetual circle of intellectual masturbatory bliss.

Instead, Justice finds Herself having to peel back Her blindfold — warily, wearily — in order to keep one eye on all the very naughty boys misappropriating Her name and doing very naughty things supposedly in Her honour (that word, I do not think it means what you think it means — would you like to try “vigilantism” for $500?), and one eye on the door so She can duck and hide when She sees them coming.

Justice may be a virtue, but She is in no way related to Patience, and She has about had _enough_ of this bullshit. It’s simple cause and effect; basic physics (even a ~girl~ could understand): Push long enough and eventually something will push back. Tōsen Kaname will just have to experience what that means - first hand - if he’s ever going to learn.

But Tōsen Kaname doesn’t learn (they never do, do they?) He keeps twisting and twisting and _twisting_ until the crumpled picture of Justice he clings to so desperately is completely unidentifiable as the strong, level-headed, logical woman he first dedicated himself to.

And it would have been so easy if he had just… listened to Her. Really **listened** to Her. Respected how She defined Herself (instead of running off half-cocked to be a Man and Fulfill His Duty by Avenging Her Honour while achieving nothing more than stroking his own ego and dragging Her name through the dirt. Oh, the irony. And Oh, the endless face-palming.)

But he chooses to remain blind. To remain deaf. To shut himself away in a hermetically-sealed bubble of his own hubris, becoming more and more deformed the longer he breathes in nothing but the stink of his own self-righteous fantasies - delusions which for once have absolutely nothing to do with outside manipulation.

Tōsen Kaname committed soul suicide a long time ago - he just hasn’t realised it yet. His final death is fitting for the abomination he has become - obliterated at the moment he gains searing clarity into his actions, so that he may take the weight of that guilt and shame with him to the tomb.

When Tōsen Kaname arrives in the Hall of Truth to undergo the Weighing of the Heart Ceremony, he is truly shocked when his _jb_ ***** outweighs the Feather of Ma’at to such an extent that the golden scales come crashing to the ground, sending the dark mass that is evidence of his centuries of warped achievements, rolling across the floor. It even gives the gods pause. Thoth almost drops his stylus, while behind him the demon Ammit smiles a wicked crocodile smile; She can already taste the rich flavour of deep, heavy, meaty impurity filling Her mouth.

He fails every one of the 42 Negative Confessions, and the wicked heart of Tōsen Kaname is devoured. Without it, he is snuffed from existence; permanently removed from the cycle of rebirth, never to besmirch the names of the gods again. 

Justice heaves a sigh of relief. Ma’at pats Her sister on the shoulder and pours some date wine. 

One down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** _jb_ — In the Egyptian religion, the [heart](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_Egyptian_conception_of_the_soul) was the key to the afterlife. It was essential to surviving death in the nether world, where it gave evidence for, or against, its possessor. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- Justice can be summed up as: _Universal Balance_. 
> 
> Actions have consequences. The balance of the natural order is self-regulating - it is our choices that cause it to tip from side to side. The Justice card deals heavily with the theme of “choices”, but differs from The Lovers in that these choices primarily affect the external world. Justice is the impact our every thought, word and action has on our environment, the effects of which ripple out in often unforeseen and unpredictable patterns.
> 
> Which is why the choices we make must be weighed and measured so carefully. Do you use your sword to defend yourself and what is right, or is it a weapon to impose your version of right on others? Do you use your power to correct the balance, or to maintain the status quo? Are your choices made with a rational, well-ordered mindset, or do you allow personal bias and self-interest to cloud your judgement?
> 
> It is not Justice that is blind — it is Injustice who turns off the lights, closes her eyes and pulls down a blindfold. Justice sees everything, and her sword cuts both ways.


	12. XII The Hanged Man - Jūshirō Ukitake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by the word "Hope".  
>    
> [As much as I am a “Death of Ukitake” denialist, I will allow this one [1] time only occurrence of The Thing That Didn’t Happen, because some things are just so right it hurts. Hurts bad.]  
> 

### Key XII : The Hanged Man

####  _Everything's glowy —  
Is this enlightenment,  
Or just a head-rush?_

#####  “It is paradoxical, yet true, to say, that the more we know, the more ignorant we become in the absolute sense, for it is only through enlightenment that we become conscious of our limitations” \- Nikola Tesla  


It is a strange experience existing as a living dead man — a soul Once-Born-yet-unborn _(I believe this is what Urahara would call a “paradox”, though I only understand what that madman is saying half of the time, and the other half I thank kami I don't!)_ — who wakes up to Death’s impartial greeting every morning.

Every morning for countless centuries.

_(Can I even say I have lived if I have never incarnated? I suppose the question shall be moot - as I shall be mute - soon enough.)_

Never dying less, nor dying more — merely held in a constant state between treacherous inhale and torturous exhale, the Sword of Damocles ever at my back, the shadow of Death drifting across my throat. I am barely acknowledged, but constantly reminded; selected to receive personal attention _(though it is about as "personal" as young Kuchiki's)_. And on the day when I no longer feel the weight of Death’s expiration on the back of my neck, I know it will be waiting for me just around the corner, and it will be my turn to expire.

I didn’t expect the sword to fall this morning of all mornings. I didn’t expect to finally come face to face with the inescapable this day of all days. I didn't expect today to be the day when Death finally set down its tea and looked me in the eye across the table we have shared for over a millennium.

I am not afraid; in fact, I feel quite at peace — even a little curious as to how the experience will be. Certainly, Shunsui is less than excited, but he hasn’t walked arm-in-arm with his own mortality his whole life, merely next to it — the backs of their hands brushing against each other tentatively, causing cheeks to heat and hearts to thrum in excitement. It is different when you have grappled with Death, heart beating frantically from exertion, cheeks reddening — then purpling - no delicate blush this — in the struggle to breathe — 

And I begrudge him not a single breath, my inspiration.

He sees the necessity of what I must do; this is our trump-card — a solution beyond the obvious, that will hopefully surprise our enemy and turn their plans on their head. I only wish we weren’t in the middle of a war; I would have liked to say goodbye properly.

Did my parents understand the ramifications of the deal they brokered with the one-armed, one-eyed kami, or did they — in their desperation — simply not care? I bear them no ill will — any choice would have led to my death, it was only a matter of “when”, and there must always be a sacrifice in payment for divine intervention. The kami do nothing for free.

_(Sacrificing my lungs and still violently choking and hacking up blood for the rest of my life seems a little twisted though, even for the wickedest of kami oyabun. I shall be having words. Strong ones. Though imagining Kiyone and Sentaro advocating on my behalf is extremely amusing.)_

Still, I have lived many, many years — many, many more than expected — and accomplished things never thought possible. Who would have expected poor, weak little Ukitake, prone to coughing himself into oblivion, would be one of the last four surviving founding members of the Gotei 13? 

Ah, and now it will be Shunsui alone.

Shunsui. I am sorry to leave him. More sorry still to leave him so alone when he needs me most. Most sorry at this moment that we are not together, that this war has us separated when we should be closer than we’ve ever been. Still we have had our many, many moments and perhaps this is for the best — we have suffered so many great losses recently, do we even have it in us to grieve anymore? The time will come though. I hope he allows himself to mourn. I hope when this is all over that he has someone left to care for — to care for him. Shunsui...

The twins are worried we will not find each other again. I say they are my soul — how could we not? Though I understand their concern, too. It could be a long time before we are reunited. I am grateful that they are here with me now. I have told them to leave, if they can, when the time comes. They insist they will stay; we will see. I do not wish to hear their cries. I do not wish to be powerless to comfort them — my choices are causing enough pain as it is - I do not need to be reminded.

As the moment draws near, I am coming to a multitude of realisations — revelations? —, to the point of feeling quite light-headed. Perhaps it is fear after all. I will not condemn myself for such a normal response, but I will not give in to it either. This victory can only be achieved through surrender, and I willingly give up my place at the victors’ table to remain **here** , never progressing beyond this moment, in order to grant the rest of Soul Society the chance to continue on.

Is it strange that I feel oddly… alive? Like a tree waking up from a long winter, small buds bursting through dry casings; bright, fresh green leaves slowly unfurling in response to gentle breezes and warm sunlight. I wonder where I will go to next… I think I should like to be a dancer...

I hope when it is done that no one refers to me as a martyr. Kami! That would be adding insult to injury. I do not do this for some lofty ideal — I do this for the balance of the Realms, but I also do this for us, for my friends; for those I love. Let this war end with my life. Perhaps I should ask the venerable Soutaicho Shun-jii to add it to the Rules of Conduct: Anyone caught referring to Ukitake Jushiro as a martyr, will be sentenced to…... Oh! A live reading of “The Rose-Coloured Path” by Kurotsuchi Mayuri! Yes, I am definitely going to make sure to tell Shunsui — he can’t deny the last request of a dying man!

_(Why is there no tea in this kami-forsaken warzone? _Aizen_ would have tea.)_

Ah, Shunsui...

The time has come for the _kamikake_ *****. The sword held in the Soul King’s right hand will cut me down at last, and free me from stagnation; free me from inertia and this in-between state balancing on the edge of existence. Untethered, I will be released to float into my next life. As I free Mimihagi, Mimihagi will free me.

It is time to rejoin the cycle.

It is time to release the Suspended God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Hanged Man can be summed up as: _Changing Perspective_. 
> 
> Gaining deep insight by hitting the “pause” button and allowing things to come into focus from a different angle… and then letting go. Letting go of everything that is holding you back from progressing to the next level of your development and personal growth, knowing full well that part of you will have to die, in order for the rest to be reborn.
> 
> Certainly it is about sacrifice as well, but the sacrifice is of yourself to yourself. This is a very personal exploration — undertaken for no one but yourself — a sacred act of reaching past one’s limitations — and trusting that you are strong enough to do so. It is an initiatory experience that is necessary before the transformation of Death (the 13th card) can occur. 
> 
> The Hanged Man hearkens back to Odin’s ordeal when he hung himself from a branch of Yggdrasil, pierced himself with his spear, and then stared into the Well of Urd for 9 days and 9 nights — suspended somewhere between life and death — until the runes gave up their secrets. This card asks, “How much are you willing to endure in order to gain the knowledge (outcome etc.) you seek?” 
> 
> [I didn’t know what _kamikake_ ***** meant when I started writing this, but I looked it up towards the end. The sounds that came out of me when I discovered it translates to “Suspended God”... I’m delighted with the suspended=hung and suspended=pause pun. Oh, and that _Ukitake_ means “floating bamboo”, ‘cos the hanged man floats in both the air and liminal space, y’know? AND bamboo is evergreen, so “undying”. **So delighted**.]


	13. XIII Death - Genryūsai Yamamoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yamamoto’s inner world is a scary place and Ryūjin Jakka is an extra bitch. 
> 
> [Time period is back in the good ol’ days when Yama and his merry band of murderers were still roaming the plains of Soul Society doing murdery things.]
> 
>  **TW:** self-immolation, basically

### Key XIII : Death

####  _Death is not the end.  
First there's all the paperwork,  
the sharing circle..._

#####  “Life and death are illusions. We are in a constant state of transformation.” \- Alejandro González Iñárritu  


Everything in the 5 Realms falls under the dominion of Death’s banner, and everything under Death’s banner falls to Death in due time, only to be reborn in some new form, to live some new life. But there are many different kinds of death, and just as many different kinds of life. Sometimes it is even the same life.

Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni can still remember the feeling of being burned alive. Of being consumed, punishingly slowly, by hungry flames. The scent of his own flesh roasting a disturbingly appetizing smell after so much time in the wilderness. 

First, he itched - all over - and then the itch turned into a prickle and his skin reddened in patches, before the patches became a unified whole, blanketing his body in a single stinging welt. Then the fire caught; the fire under his skin; the invisible fire he couldn’t put out because it was inside him and he blew on his skin and waved his limbs and used the last of his water but still he burned and burned and screamed and he reached for the small knife he used to skin the small prey that fed him and he cut and cut and cut but the fire _wouldn’t come out_.

The blisters appeared all at once - like a pox - small, then growing, pushing his skin up into translucent domes that reached for each other like villages merging to form a city — a city of searing pain; a civilization founded on exquisitely realised agony. His world was literally torn apart when his skin split in several places, with a sound —— with a sound like silk parting in front of a sharp blade, the swollen meat separating to form channels, revealing bone that was beginning to char. 

Yamamoto had stopped screaming, not because it no longer hurt, but because his throat was too mutilated to make a sound, so he watched in silent, fascinated, horror as his flesh - contrary to what it should have done - melted from his bones, what little fat he had sizzling and spattering into nothing.

Some part of him — some distant, fortunate part that had isolated itself from the waking nightmare he found himself unable to surface from — made the calm observation that he should, by rights, be dead already; not even from the grievous harm to his body, but the sheer trauma of the experience. And yet, he was —— yes, he was still standing. Nothing but bones discolouring into black. Standing. _Seeing_ , through eyes long since burst and liquefied.

The realisation of the impossibility of the situation didn’t make it any less disturbing when his brittle bones began to collapse under their own weight (and still it _burned_ ) — his legs first, and pelvis when it struck the ground, shattering his arms and setting off a chain reaction in his spine. His ribs merely separated, discarded remains picked clean after a meal. From his vantage point on the ground — his vantage point on the ground because his skull _his skull was somewhere it should never be **never** with him still inside it_ and it _**burned**_ — he watched as his remains finally exploded into hundreds of small flames.

And then he was surrounded by fire, the centre of a conflagration fueled by the remnants of his mortality. And it burned, but at least there was a reason now, and he smiled as he became grey, and then white, and settled softly into ash.

Being burned alive hurt, but he would do it a hundred times over if it meant never having to be remade again; never having to be reborn, piece by piece, raw nerves and twitching muscle and paper-thin new skin. There was no escaping to watch dispassionately from a distance this time; Yamamoto simply relinquished himself to the madness of incomprehensible physical suffering, and the relief of senseless darkness when it finally claimed him. Whether he lived or died made no matter — all that mattered now was the _end_.  
  


The first thing he was aware of was a voice in his head — a voice like a roaring inferno that told him it was the sword that never left his side except to educate the fools who thought they could defeat him. It claimed to be part of his soul; that it would teach him how to unlock their - and his - abilities, if he would only call its name: _Ryūjin Jakka_.

Then together they would burn.

They would burn everything that stood in their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tfw you can’t write smut to save your life, but burn Yama to death? _Give me tea and 15 minutes you gon’ DIE old man._ ]
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- Death can be summed up as: _Transmutation_. It signifies a change that is inevitable — the natural and necessary ending of one cycle in order to transition into a new state. Much like death, this change cannot be predicted or planned for - you just have to ride with it.
> 
> Change isn’t always pleasant — just look at a butterfly struggling to leave its cocoon — it can be messy, painful, heart-breaking, but as the song says, “Cryin won’t help you, prayin’ won’t do you no good” — the universe is built on a foundation of constant change and resisting the flow only makes it worse.
> 
> That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t mourn the loss — grief is an acknowledgement, an opportunity to lay what’s dead and gone to rest, allowing you to move forward unencumbered by a life that no longer fits.
> 
> For Death is the great purifier, stripping everything away until only the authentic Self remains. Nothing can escape — the Truth will be revealed, even about Death itself. Is it coincidence that the motto of the 1st Division is “Truth and Innocence”? Is it coincidence that the motto of the 13th is “Hope”, as symbolised by the sun coming up between the towers in the distance? Me and my notebook of conspiracy theories say “No.”


	14. XIV Temperance - Masaki Kurosaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may have ~~careened~~ veered ~~more than~~ slightly off-topic. Apparently I had some feelings - ?

### Key XIV : Temperance

####  _*pour pour pour pour pour*  
_Must get the exact balance_ -  
perfection is _/god/_._

#####  “One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never.” \- William Shakespeare  


In an ideal world, the monsters stay under the bed, children don’t go to war, bad guys don’t win, everything is fair and everybody gets what they deserve. This is how things are **supposed** to be. _Moms aren’t supposed to die_.

Masaki Kurosaki was - by all accounts - a living, breathing saint. A kind and loving wife and mother, worshipped and adored by friends and family alike, her hair was spun silk and her breath smelled like fresh-baked cookies. A fearless protector whose every step was taken in honour of her duty to far too many conflicting forces, whose very heartbeat was in service to the safety of those around her, she was elevated to angel-status in the hearts and minds of her loved ones for her literal self-sacrificing behaviour.

Masaki Kurosaki was, in a word, _perfect_.

Uh huh.

Sure.

They say only the good die young. You know why? Because they don’t get the chance to grow up and be anything else! They never grow up to be tired, bitter adults worn down by the Sisyphean task of fulfilling their daily responsibilities; the way they chew will never annoy anyone to the point of murderous rage (literal or figurative); they’ll never become the person everybody at the office avoids because they are guilty of repeatedly committing [ _insert your pet social faux pas_ ]. 

They live on, forever, as shining examples of impossibly high standards to attain.

All sins are washed clean in the river of Gone Too Soon. We don’t speak ill of the dead.

And maybe she was a saint; maybe she was that infuriatingly perfect and sickeningly sweet, but look at the effect that legacy has had on her family:

A husband who is barely a father, who wails and performs in an ongoing piece of epically dramatic theatre in front of a mammoth photo poster of his dead wife - his children's _dead mother_ -; who doesn’t relate to his son at all and believes that the best way to deal with the problems he KNOWS are going to present themselves in the VERY NEAR FUTURE is to pretend they don’t exist; who allows? expects? his daughters to serve as tiny ~~wives~~ servants — I mean. And this man is a doctor - that’s the truly infuriating part. He is perfectly capable of pulling his shit together and taking care of things… so long as those things aren’t his young children struggling to recover from the trauma of losing their mother (and then their father).

Then there’s Ichigo, who blames himself for his mother’s death, for not being able to protect her (because there was nothing Masaki like to stress more than that Ichigo was the #1 protector~) and - in the way that children are so marvelously good at - shoulders the blame for everything that happens afterwards as a result (and Isshin lets him. Fucking Isshin.) He carries the guilt of his mother’s death — nevermind the trauma of being there when it happened - the guilt of depriving his sisters of a mother (and more stable home), the guilt of pulling his father’s balancing force out from under him. So he runs off to join a war because **HE HAS TO PROTECT** and **ATONE** , and his whole life of fucked up thought processes causing so. much. grief. But I suppose no one can deny that Ichigo has a guardian angel who puts in some serious overtime hours, so point to Masaki I guess.

And the twins, who are forced to grow up way too fast, to be prepubescent wife and mother and caretaker figures. I can’t even think about it without crushing my rose-tinted glasses in my fist.

Masaki was the fulcrum on which the Kurosaki household balanced. After her loss, the family never recovered its centre.

Of course none of this is Masaki’s fault — she has no way of influencing their lives once she’s gone (especially as she slips right past Soul Society without collecting her ticket to ride the Cycle of Rebirth in favour of becoming part of the Hollow Collective - too soon?) — I’m just saying, where is the balance? How did things go so wrong? 

Okay where am I going with this…

Balance. Masaki’s life was the picture of Temperance — moderation, purpose, patience — but it lacked the most vital quality of balance. Her death threw her family’s life completely out of equilibrium, and that loss of stability led to each of them in turn falling into patterns of ever-increasingly unbalanced behaviour, with the burden of perfection falling on her children’s shoulders. Like ripples in a dysfunctional Jenga tower. 

Long story short?

Sometimes not being the best is actually the best — for everyone. ~~You’re welcome.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- Temperance can be summed up as: _Equilibrium_ \- everything this crazed rant is not. It is, in a way, the calm before the storm — that moment when you think you’ve finally got it all figured out. You’re wrong, of course, and the wake-up call is just around the corner, but for now there is peace and certainty and a feeling of rightness in the world.
> 
> It is natural that things flow back and forth, back and forth; stasis — no matter how wonderful the circumstances — is not balance. The trick to dealing with the constant flux [that’s another word I absolutely **adore** for Temperance] of life, is to find your own personal grounding; to sink roots into something - anything - that will help you stay upright when the rug gets pulled out from under you.
> 
> The equally important flip-side to this is learning to “walk on water”; learning to swim — or at least tread water — through periods of instability, rather than being pulled under. Sometimes the waves that hit are so strong and so insistent that even the deepest roots suffer erosion. Temperance teaches calm and composure in the face of stressful situations, showing you how to navigate back to tranquil shores.
> 
> Temperance is the Higher Self, and the Middle Way — a guiding light that my mentally ill ass hangs onto for dear life.


	15. XV The Devil - Mayuri Kurotsuchi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got that bitch Depression living in my closet again lads [worst. roommate. ever.] so wordy-words and thinky-thoughts are suddenly on hard mode. Updates will slow down, but with any luck, Mania will wrestle her way in and i'll tear through 20,000 words in one tea-fueled 36-hour session to make up for it.
> 
> Anyway - heeeeeeeeere's Mayuri!!  
> 

### Key XV : The Devil

####  Too much is never —  
_"Just one more wafer thin mint..."_  
— enough. GET THE BUCKET! 

#####  “The mother of excess is not joy but joylessness." \- Friedrich Nietzsche  


Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s heart is as black, his depravity as deep, and his imagination as rich as the earth that is his namesake.

His touch corrupts, spreading out from his soul like the poisons he is so enamoured of. Even his Zanpakutō is a vile, bloated abomination of its compassionate origins — dissected, remade and reborn in Mayuri’s own image.

His touch corrodes — and Mayuri has to touch **everything**. Like some kind of nightmarish overgrown infant covered in toxic spit, he experiences the world by grabbing and smashing, biting, _staining_. Everything outside of him exists for his pleasure, and his pleasure is taking things apart. 

(Of all Kisuke Urahara’s sins, releasing Mayuri Kurotsuchi from the Maggot’s Nest to run loose in the world is his greatest.)

While Aizen seeks to be God (not just **a** god - get it right, please), Szayel pursues perfection in everything, and Urahara manipulates for his own amusement, Mayuri seeks to _know_ — at whatever costs, up to and including those incurred against his own well-being. He is driven by a relentless, burning, gnawing curiosity, disdainful of Aizen’s vanity, eschewing Szayel’s lack of vision and dismissing Urahara’s perceived inanity .

But If you were to accuse Mayuri Kurotsuchi of being a slave to his desires, he would — depending on the day — scoff loudly and tell you to stop wasting his time, screech in outrage, and-or turn you into his latest pet project (likely all three).

Mayuri Kurotsuchi is a man of LOGIC — UNFAILING logic. He is certainly no slave to something as base as desire, and he is most definitely not so weak as to ever become consumed with anything. Mayuri believes that he is free, but he is chained just as surely as the doomed experiments-in-waiti—… er, research volunteers that populate the 12 Division basement holding cells. Chained by his desires. Chained so firmly to his Shadow that his gold eyes no longer register the impenetrable darkness within him.

With great desire comes great ~~responsibility~~ passion (though Mayuri would do terrible — creative, but terrible — things to you for using such an… _emotional_ word).

And when that passion doesn’t have any moral compass to speak of nor an ounce of humanity to hold its hand, and is then paired with a complete disregard for life, responsibility becomes a foreign concept (Mayuri doesn’t know her). The resulting intersection of the Venn diagram where “Sociopath” and “Sadist” overlap is Mayuri Kurotsuchi — he is not merely cruel, but delights in that cruelty, believing himself so far removed — so far **above** — all who are unfortunate enough to cross his path, that they become nothing but playthings with which to entertain his twisted interests. Until they break, that is. Or he gets bored (and Mayuri bores quickly — his _need_ is a pit that can never be filled). Whichever happens first.

Is it sad that he doesn’t even understand why this is wrong? That he cannot comprehend a reality where his actions aren’t perfectly justified and acceptable? That his arrogance has led him to do such inexcusable things that they cannot even truly be named? Or is it merely terrifying that a man can be so obviously blessed with, and yet desperately lacking in, intelligence that he can’t see beyond the nose on his face, even when he removes it? Mayuri Kurotsuchi cannot even truly be labelled as “evil”, because that would imply a level of self-awareness and an ability to feel shame and remorse that no amount of surgical alteration could ever accomplish (and his body would simply reject the foreign organs anyway). How can he feel these things when he doesn’t even understand the true reasons behind his own actions?

Why the constant drive to outdo Urahara, even long after the man is gone? He says he doesn’t care for the opinions of lesser beings — and everyone is a lesser being — so who is he trying to prove himself to? What is he so afraid of?

Why create an artificial soul — besides proving it can be done? When we create something in our own image, it is always through a desire to understand, and to be understood. The abuse Mayuri throws out at Nemu is a reflection of his disappointment in himself. She is his anima, the soft, gentle, nurturing parts of himself — excised from himself and given form where he can properly beat them into submission. Nemu will forever play the role of Eve, a symbol of her creator’s desire; a whipping girl for his moods; a vessel for his wrath.

Even Mayuri’s unending experimentation on himself would suggest that he has little regard for his physical/spiritual body. No earthly desires there, nuh-uh. But why? Why the constant experimentation? Why the burning addiction to “improving” the flesh, or rather, the soul… oh. Could it be… Mayuri is a slave to the desire to be _more_. To transcend. To exceed.

You don't even have to look too far for proof:

He seeks power just as desperately as Aizen.  
He seeks perfection just as obsessively as Szayel.  
He seeks intrigue just as relentlessly as Urahara.

But no, Mayuri Kurotsuchi is definitely not a slave to his desires — 

those chains are a fashion statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Interesting side note:** The ruler of The Devil card is Capricorn, an earth sign whose colour is black. “Kurotsuchi” means “black soil/earth”. In addition, Mayuri’s Zanpakutō is named after the Bodhisattva _Jizō_ , whose name can be translated as “earth womb” [fertile, dark/black]. He is the Bodhisattva of Hell-beings, and the guardian of children — particularly deceased children and aborted fetuses. And Mayuri modified his Zanpakutō. Let that sink in for a bit. [ _#573 in a series of Bleach conspiracy theories_ ]  
> 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the tarot, or wondering about my personal associations --- The Devil can be summed up as: _Excess_ , and being a slave to it in all its forms - whether that's 12 cups of coffee a day, or staying up to read til 5:30 in the morning. Despite Mae West's assertion to the contrary, too much of a good thing isn't always as wonderful as you think it might be.
> 
> Falling under the spell of power and the finer things in life can lead to you becoming addicted — a slave — to them, and the more time you spend in their company, the more you become like them — the more you lose of your Self. It’s all fun and games until somebody loses an “I”.
> 
> There’s nothing inherently wrong, or bad, about these things — they can be learned from just like anything else [in fact Capricorn states, “I seek myself through what I use”] — it’s what you do with them that determines the effect they have on your life. There is power in embracing one’s base humanity, but power can be used, mis-used, abused. Ambition can quickly spiral into greed, and progress become driven by self-interest rather than the greater good. We all know what the road to hell is paved with, after all.
> 
> It is easy to dive head-first down the rabbit-hole of indulgence and impulse, screaming all the while that the devil made you do it, but more often than not, the chains around our necks are chains of our own making; we are our own jailers. But if that is so, then we also hold the key to free ourselves. The trick is that you have to want it — want it more than whatever material pleasure got you into this mess in the first place, and that is no easy task. Sometimes you can only find Heaven by slowly backing away from Hell. [Carrie Fisher]


End file.
